


Bloodbound

by deliciously_devient



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 16:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15123605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciously_devient/pseuds/deliciously_devient
Summary: In order to secure his clan's future, Hanzo Shimada must take a mate.





	Bloodbound

Times are changing.

It used to be that an Ancient house held absolute power in its domain; it used to be that Hanzo Shimada, leader of the Shimada Clan, could command the respect of every vampire in his presence simply by arching an eyebrow, and, if that failed, with swift and brutal murder.

Ah, the good days were behind him.

A virulent string of the bird flu causing an epidemic, a kind-hearted (or selfish, depending who you asked) vampire turning a friend to save them, and suddenly not only were vampires revealed to the general populace, the general populace was now mostly vampires. Seven billion people on the planet and now nearly two thirds of them were vampires.

Of course, a blood shortage wasn’t the main issue; plasma was easily synthesized once enough minds were set to it, and that problem had been solved within months of the initial outbreak.

No, the problem, Hanzo had discovered, was the politics.

Vampires were naturally social creatures, despite what pop culture would have told you. Clans were the natural state of vampires, all choosing one person to revolve around and take guidance from; in old and Ancient families, it was generally a naturally born vampire. In New clans, it was generally the Sire, or some approximation. A clan was emotionally connected to each other; in a lot of ways, vampires weren’t all that different from werewolves in that they generally stayed within their clan, and generally didn’t form attatchments to people outside their clan.

The Shimada were old, and powerful for it, but with so many years without accepting newly turned vampires, and Hanzo himself having refused a female mate for actual centuries, unaware that his decision would put his clan at jeopardy with it’s few numbers. New clans were coalescing everywhere, the urge to group and be part of one driving the new vampires, and in the chaos, Ancient families like Hanzo’s were at risk of being wiped out or absorbed by other families with more numbers.

There were a few options available to him; he could open the Shimada clan to newly turned vampires with less vetting, lower his standards to what it meant to be a Shimada. He could offer to personally turn more new vampires, again with fewer standards. Or he could find a mate among one of the larger clans, offer his Ancient blood for this new leader in exchange for the other clan taking the Shimada name.

All of these options made his mouth turn in a snarl; accepting people who were less than exceptional was a disgusting prospect to him; the Shimada hadn’t accepted a human for turning in over two hundred years, and even then, Yoshiro had had to undergo ten years of tests and vetting before being turned. Hanzo would not lower his standards for Clan members, not for humans or the freshly turned.

Which meant he would have to find a mate among the other, newer Clan leaders.

He had been stewing over this for over two weeks, since he’d realized that the Shimada barely had the numbers to patrol Hanamura, let alone all of Japan, the country they had fought a bloody 100 year war against a rival vampire clan to rule. Since the Turning, hundreds of clans had popped up in Japan, and their position as Head Clan of Japan was being routinely challenged. So far, they had easily rebuffed the young vampires’ challenges. However, despite the centuries of training, the last conflict had lead to one of Hanzo’s most trusted lieutenants being grievously wounded.

Skill wasn’t the issue; numbers were. Tanaki had been overrun by twenty young vampires, who had raw strength on their side. He had one, but only barely, and his life still hung in the balance as Shimada healers attempted to bring him back from the edge of the True Death.

“Brother!” Hanzo barely restrained himself from jumping, startled from his reverie as his brother flounced into his room. He was wearing modern clothing, the scars on his face covered by gaudy makeup, and glitter shown in his hair. The sight of his scars made the old guilt tighten in Hanzo’s stomach, but he pushed it down. Their fight had been centuries ago, but their reconciliation was very recent; only a year ago, just after the Turning. Hanzo hadn’t even realized Genji had survived, let alone recovered, and it had been a bit of a nasty shock.

“Genji,” Hanzo greets, warmly, clasping his hand on his brother’s shoulder as he moves from the window he’d been gazing out in his office, moving his fingers along Genji’s neck and shoulder, accepting the gesture from his brother, letting the familiar scent of family settle him.

“I think I’ve found you a mate!” Genji says, bubbly, bouncing on the heels of his feet. Hanzo arches an eyebrow, tilting his head to indicate Genji should continue.

“He’s American -don’t make that face at me, I know you have a thing for Americans- and he is the uncontested leader of the entire American Southwest. Over fifty million are in his clan; that’s more than half of all the vampires in America!” Genji enthuses, and he’s positively bouncing.

Hanzo admits he is interested; he has considered many times perhaps moving the clan to his mate’s territory; despite the Turning, Japan remained largely human, and their laws restricting his kind were becoming increasingly strict, to the point where he could see the country actively hunting them. America would offer more than enough space for the thousand or so Shimada that remained, and a man that commanded fifty million in his Clan? Was definitely a man Hanzo would consider mating.

“That is certainly a large number,” he says slowly. “How do you know of him? I thought America’s clans were more...democratic.”

Genji waves his hand in a dismissive way. “Well, it’s far more complicated; his actual clan is only thirty, but he is part of the Vampiric Congress, and what his word is held in higher esteem than any other; he is the one who prevented the Vampiric Congress from turning all humans in America by force.”

Hanzo nods; he didn’t pay much attention to American politics, but what he knows makes this seem more likely. American Clans are often small, family units, many clans under one Clan banner. If most American Clans want to be under this man’s banner, adding an Ancient house to that Clan would only cement his power.

“And he wants an Ancient house to cement this power?” Hanzo asks, and Genji nods.

“What’s more, I’ve known Jesse for years. I was actually his Sire,” Genji said, and the expression on his face is terribly fond. “It was years before the Turning, and I only recently thought to reconnect; he was part of the Turning himself, advocating the saving of humans via turning in America. He is an honorable man, and has agreed to meet with you to discuss a possible mating.”

Hanzo nods slowly, guilt panging through his chest at the mention of Genji’s time wandering; he hadn’t even been aware that Genji had Sired anyone. His brother was both the same and different in so many painful ways, but the only thing to do now was move forward.

“How soon is he willing to meet?” Hanzo asked, and there was an impish glint in Genji’s eyes that reminded him of their youth, and Hanzo was immediately suspicious.

“Right now,” Genji said, and whistled sharply. The door opens, and the scent of the man is what hits him first. It’s dry, like the desert, something vaguely musky and sharp, like early morning air on a day that’s going to be blisteringly hot. It’s like nothing Hanzo has ever scented before, and it makes his nostrils flare rudely as he attempts to take in more of the scent. 

The man is large, broad shouldered with a pleasant smile on his rugged face. His beard is a bit wild, but well-cared for, his eyes brown with the hint of red in the iris that reveals him to other vampires. He’s dressed oddly, a worn cowboy hat on his head and an odd shawl around his shoulder in a red color with a gold border. He wears pointed boots with spurs on them, and he sees an empty holster on his right hip.

He looks like he stepped straight out of an old western movie.

“Hello,” the man says, in lighty accented Japanese. Hanzo blinks in surprise; he wouldn’t expected that from a man dressed like this, so primally American, and if he had, he would have expected a bad accent. “My name’s Jesse McCree. I’ve heard you’re looking for a mate.”

“That is correct,” Hanzo says, taking the hand Jesse offers. A tingle of something goes up his spine where their skin meets, and he feels something in his center tighten. 

“I won’t waste your time with niceties, then,” Jesse says, a twinkle in his eye that vaguely reminds Hanzo of Genji. “Your clan needs a way out of Japan, and I’ve got a lot of sway on the Vampiric Counsel, and an entire town I could house your people in. Mating an Ancient house to mine will cement my power, especially with the Old houses in America. I’m willing to cede the main leadership role to you, and take on the Shimada clan name in order to protect my territory.”

Hanzo blinks, taken aback. Of course, these are stipulations he would have demanded anyway, but he wouldn’t have expected any Clan leader to give them up so willingly. He stares at Jesse for a moment, sees the steel hiding in those warm brown eyes, and suddenly understands what must have drawn Genji to him.

It takes a great amount of sacrifice to willingly cede over control of a clan to another vampire; it is doubly intense to do so for a mating. It requires submission, a supplication of power over to another, and is something Hanzo himself would likely be unable to do. To sever himself from all of the clan, to give all that power, all that responsibility to another? He simply could not do it.

And Jesse would, will, to secure his clan’s future.

Hanzo already respects him.

“Such terms seem acceptable to me,” Hanzo says after a moment. “In exchange, of course, I would be willing to bloodbind us together.”

Jesse smiles, wide and happy, his face transforming from mildly polite into blindingly joyful. Hanzo feels his chest seize, and was sure if his heart didn’t beat so slowly, his face would flush red. 

Jesse raises his hand to his mouth, and flicks out one fang to puncture his thumb, a bead of blood bubbling on the tip. The scent of the desert intensifies, and Hanzo feels hunger rise in him, his fangs almost dropping without his consent. Jesse offers his bloodied thumb.

“Swear on it?” he asks, and it’s for show, mostly, this tiny bloodoath, but Hanzo knows he will honor it. He pricks his own thumb, watches the dark red well up, and presses the drop to Jesse’s.

Something warm zings through his chest, the phantom of a connection they’ll make more permanent in the future, and Hanzo know’s he’s made the right choice.


End file.
